Bring Me to Life. Kira Sinclair
the same long burgundy dress and velvet wrap as his wife, stood beside her. Tatum murmured something he couldn’t hear. The other woman rocked back on her heels as if she’d been hit, her eyes going wide. She sputtered, wrapped her arm around Tatum’s waist and pulled her tight into the protective shield of her body.
He had no idea who the woman was, but it was obvious she cared about his wife. He was glad. He’d worried about Tatum so much. Hated that his choices had hurt her. Left her alone. But there was no way he could have prevented it.
In true Tatum fashion, she allowed the comforting embrace only for a moment before pulling out of the hold.
That was his wife. She hid her soft, gooey center beneath a steely hard shell. Life had taught her how to protect herself.
It hurt knowing his “death” had only reinforced the lessons.
Tatum’s feet shuffled. Was she going to head back into the group of buildings behind her and pretend he didn’t exist or walk across the street and deal with him? He wasn’t entirely certain.
Apparently, neither was she. Her body hesitated, moving forward and then pulling back several times before she actually took a step toward him. One led to two and three and then a rush of a handful more. She raced across the pavement, her heels clicking against the ice-slicked asphalt.
Evan straightened, spreading his feet wide and dropping his arms to his sides.
Her long dress spun out around her legs, fluttering in the breeze caused by her flight. He braced, thinking she was going to launch herself at him. His heart stuttered, hope and happiness—the first he’d allowed himself to indulge in for a very long time—bubbled up through his chest.
But she didn’t throw herself into his waiting arms.
Instead, she reached back, put every ounce of power behind her shoulder and slapped the shit out of him.
The ringing crack of palm against cheek broke through the night. His head snapped sideways. Evan groaned, an involuntary sound that tore through his throat.
“Bastard,” she hissed.
Cradling his jaw with a hand, Evan slowly righted his body.
Tatum shook out her fingers as she glared at him through tempting, flashing green eyes. Eyes that had haunted both his nightmares and dreams. The worst had been the nightmares where he was certain the enemy had found her, torturing her as revenge for the lies he’d told.
Evan barely registered the other woman hovering behind them. He knew she was there, but he couldn’t drag his gaze away from Tatum long enough to notice her. He’d hoped not to have an audience for this reunion.
“I buried you,” Tatum said. “I stood beside your sobbing mother and father and buried you. For months, I visited your grave, bringing flowers and talking to you, sharing how hard it was to move on and let you go.”
“I know,” he whispered. The anguish in her voice and eyes killed him. What he wanted to do was hold her close, offer her the comfort of his body. Something told him that wouldn’t go over well.
Her eyes flashed. “Where the hell have you been for the last three years?”
“Colombia.”
“And I don’t suppose they had cell phones, or email or, hell, a post office in Colombia?”
He thought the anguish was bad, but the caustic rage was ten times worse. It made his chest ache with helplessness. He didn’t like to feel helpless.
“Let me explain.”
“Oh, you’re definitely going to do that. But not now. Not here. This is my friend’s wedding and I will not ruin the rest of their party with your drama. You’ve waited this long, one more night won’t hurt.”
Evan wasn’t entirely certain of that. The moment the Army had released him, he’d hightailed it to Sweetheart, not even bothering to stop for a change of clothes.
He’d been in the States for a little over a week, relating the specifics of his deep-cover mission to some arrogant prick who’d never seen a dirty, dangerous day of battle in his life. Not to mention helping tie up the loose ends after single-handedly dismantling one of the most bloodthirsty and ruthless drug cartels in Colombia. And going ape-shit crazy because the bureaucrats in charge were taking their sweet time and wouldn’t flippin’ release him.
His wife had been so close, and he hadn’t been able to get to her. Beyond frustrating.
The other bridesmaid stepped up beside Tatum, her voice soft and soothing as she said, “I’m sure everyone would understand if you needed to leave, Tatum. Hope and Gage are already gone.”
“Maybe, but that’s beside the point, Willow.” His wife’s hands fisted at her sides.
Evan shifted away, putting a little more space between them just in case she decided she needed to use them on him.
It struck him as hilarious that he’d spent the last three years rubbing elbows with some of the most hardened criminals in South America, constantly wondering if today was the day he’d end up with a bullet in the back, and taken the inherent danger in stride.
But a pissed off Tatum? She scared the shit out of him. Always had. She didn’t hesitate to fight dirty. It was one of the things he’d always loved about her. And hated, since life had taught her the need and skills to do it.
Her gaze darted from him to Willow and back again. Her mouth thinned and her eyes snapped. Finally, she growled, “Dammit!” She poked a finger into his chest. “Stay here.” She wrapped a hand around Willow’s arm and dragged the other woman behind her.
Willow didn’t turn, not right away, but let her gaze trail down his entire body as she walked backward. In heels several inches high. Over ice-covered pavement. He might have been impressed, if he hadn’t been so conscious of the fact she was weighing and measuring him while she was doing it.
And her dark, calm eyes gave no indication just how he’d scored.
Evan watched Tatum and Willow disappear inside, heavy doors slamming shut behind them.
It was entirely possible she was screwing with him and had every intention of letting him freeze his ass off waiting on her while she whooped it up at the party.
But he didn’t think so. Tatum was the kind of woman who faced problems head on, always had been. She didn’t hide her head in the sand or pretend something wasn’t happening in the hope the problem would disappear. She made a decision and took action.
It was a trait they shared, something he’d always admired about her.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Evan leaned back against the seat of his bike. His gaze wandered up and down the street. It was quiet, just like the rest of the small southern town.
He had to admit, Sweetheart, South Carolina, was the last place he’d expected to find Tatum. She was a big-city girl. Growing up in Detroit, her family had lived paycheck to paycheck, close enough to the edge of disaster to make life a little unpredictable.
Her senior year of high school, her dad had lost his manufacturing job, sending her family into turmoil. Her dreams of college were crushed, at least for a little while.
Evan had watched her struggle that last year to hold everyone together. She’d been the glue keeping her mother and father moving forward.
He’d joined the Army right out of high school. They’d married a few weeks later, mostly to give Tatum his benefits, although he’d known for years he had wanted to marry her. The timeline had just been bumped up by circumstances.
He’d gone off to basic training and she’d stayed behind, working and trying to keep things going back home with her parents. Her mother being diagnosed with ovarian cancer was just one more blow. Without insurance, they couldn’t afford treatment. She did get some, but it wasn’t enough, and she died a year later. Her father, snowed under beneath the weight of grief